


young, dumb, and full of blood

by worn



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Blood and Gore, Drugged Sex, Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worn/pseuds/worn
Summary: rick has the power to hurt, to heal, to turn morty's attention to him.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	young, dumb, and full of blood

**Author's Note:**

> don't ask why I'm writing so much non-con lately, it's coincidental haha. this was inspired by cool artists on twitter drawing some great rick and morty gore.

morty looks good all scratched up, his hair out of place, his eyes tearful and gaunt. rick likes it, likes both causing that hurt look and causing morty’s smile when rick heals him.

plus, morty’s affectionate when he’s in a good mood. he becomes more polite and respectful when he gets what he asks for. rick can’t decide if he wants to beat the boy for his insolence or baby him until morty comes crawling to his grandfather for more. he’s always torn between the two.

maybe this causes rick to take the boy on adventures that are a little too dangerous: violent, traumatizing, lethal. but he can’t stop. he can’t get his mind off his grandson. morty sparks all sorts of feelings in him... rick just wants to stir feelings in the kid too.

maybe it goes too far.

“no... no... why, rick? not my, not there, don’t--“

morty’s eyes are like moss trapped at the bottom of a lake, clouded and shining, when rick pushes his aching cock into the red mess of gore spilling out of the boy. the hole rick cut there is so warm, practically sucking him in, like morty’s body is asking for it.

why is rick doing this? even he doesn’t really know. there’s no reason for this other than that he wants to. and there’s no reason for rick to ever hold back.

morty‘s eyes widen at the unnatural intrusion into his abdomen and he vocalizes, slow and long, the sound rising into a shrill scream, even though rick has already drugged him so he can’t move or feel pain. 

noisy little shit. what is he so bothered about? why can't he just trust rick for a little while? he won’t even remember this later.

“shut up, mooorty,” rick says breathlessly, choking the boy’s neck and slamming into him. “shut up and, and look at this. your intestines are-- they’re so hot, kid. can’t get enough of ‘em, never seen any-- s-so gorgeous.”

morty’s eyes move sluggishly to where his stomach opens up and holds his grandfather’s dick. but he doesn’t look like he enjoys what he sees; he looks pale. 

even morty’s displeasure fills rick with some strange emotion, running hot in his veins - uncontrollable. rick manhandles morty’s body with bruising strength, as if he were just a toy, and savors the feeling. he can feel the rabbit-quick heartbeat of his grandson pulsating through the viscera surrounding his cock.

morty is his: every organ, every last drop of blood, every single strand of dna, every secret place hidden in his body... rick wants it all. he wishes morty could know forever just how much he belongs to rick, how little he can ever do by himself. but the boy wouldn’t be able to function, wouldn’t even try anymore, and it would be too boring then. 

as if to prove his point, morty stops speaking and trying to struggle, and just lays there like a doll. fine with him - rick will take this chance to lavish the boy with attention in his own way. after all, he can be patient when the long game calls for it.

his fingers move delicately over morty’s wet cheek, wiping at the boy’s tears. rick brings his hand up to his mouth and laps the salt off his skin, breathing hard.

“grandpa loves you, morty. that’s--“ rick groans, lost in pleasure. “that’s why--“

with a grunt, rick slows and plucks his axe up from the side of the cot. he grips the weapon overhead with both hands. 

morty just stares at him in terror, a hopeless look in his eyes and his lips ajar. he can’t even speak anymore, the only thing that leaves his mouth is a cracked sound, like a dog’s whine.

rick has to compensate for the way his cot shakes with every thrust of his hips, clenching his teeth in concentration, before bringing the axe down, over and over again, to cut through morty’s arms, his legs. 

blood soaks rick’s cot, puddling down to the floor. blood smears all over his and morty’s bodies-- splashing over where they connect. 

“morty. ah, m-morty... you’re mine--"

he’s so close. rick can’t help delighting at his grandson’s expression, like a kaleidoscope of horror, confusion, misery, and sudden pain as the anesthetic effect wears off too quickly.

morty screams his throat raw, nearly throwing up with the force of it, as rick comes hard into his open wound at the sound.

it’s a good thing the room is soundproofed. 

rick gives morty a punch to the face, quieting him, before laying morty’s body parts against the stumps where they were sliced off. then, he injects the boy with serum and morty’s body heals rapidly.

no fuss, no muss. he’s still out of it and unable to move though; that effect will take a bit longer to wear off.

“rick, you-- you’re... you’re a monster...” 

morty always says it like he’s surprised. he shouldn’t be, but it’s convenient that he is.

“shh, shhhh, it’s fine, morty. you’re gonna be fine. you were so good-- such a good little boy. it won’t happen again, okay?” rick lies. even he can be nice sometimes, but he knows it isn’t enough.

rick kisses morty’s face all over, as wet as a drowned rat’s, covered in tears, trembling. the boy looks weak, motionless on his grandfather’s cot. rick hates the way his chest tightens in adoration at the sight.

handy as ever, rick flashes his grandson with the memory gun and grins at the red vial that it produces. there in his hand sits the best possible wank material, until next time.

rick can do this whenever he wants, and it’s fun, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a tedious side to it. all the healing and cleanup and memory wiping - it’s exhausting. this memory should be enough to tide him over for a long time.

he certainly hopes so, and it has nothing to do with his more decent feelings towards morty - not at all.

a month passes. rick watches his grandson through the window of his classroom, bored of waiting for him, as he often is. the teacher drones on about the importance of statistics, when suddenly morty’s eyes widen at nothing as if he’s seeing death itself standing before him.

he gasps and that same animalistic whine escapes his throat, before urine pours out from between his legs and drips to the floor. the teacher calls morty out but the boy can't respond, sobbing and screaming with all the fear which had gone unprocessed before. a couple other teachers enter the classroom out of concern for the commotion, trying to help calm morty and call a school nurse in to take him away.

rick watches, both annoyed that something triggered morty into remembering what they did so vividly and gratified at being recognized for it. 

and what he does to morty is an achievement. he remembers it too. he thinks about it all the time.

in a moment, rick will visit the nurse's office as the kid's guardian, and it’ll be time for the memory gun again. rick holds all the cards in his hand, but morty doesn’t need to know that. 

morty’s best when he doesn’t know much of anything.

**Author's Note:**

> \---links---
> 
> * my twitter:  
> [twitter.com/broc0n]


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